


Home

by kinsale_42



Series: McHanzo [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Emotional and Physical Pain, Fluff and Angst, Hanzo gets snarky, Implied Sexual Content, Jesse's personal history, Love, M/M, My Hanzo has real feet, Neurodiverse Hanzo, New Mexico, New information about old history, Sharing worlds, Snake death, Thunderstorms, Unintended revelations, but no actual sex, finding balance, lots of holding hands, snake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinsale_42/pseuds/kinsale_42
Summary: After a year's worth of visits to Hanzo's current home-in-exile in the Pacific Northwest, Jesse wants to share his own life in New Mexico, and makes a snap decision about living arrangements that he fears he may quickly come to regret. Hanzo comes to stay, and, thanks to a mysterious new informant of Jesse's, learns about more than his lover's life and history.





	1. A House

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the research I did for this story, I am now obsessed with one day visiting Albuquerque.
> 
> A clever reader has pointed out that I've overlapped plots, and now I have to work out a fix for it. Check back soon for updates.  
> (Clearly I've been dealing with Blizzard way too long, and it's rubbed off on me...this makes me think some retcon action is called for.)  
> (6/11/19)
> 
> I have no plans to change this work at this time, but the ending of History will be modified. (6/16/19)
> 
> I have updated History. Hope everything flows more smoothly now for you all. :) (7/6/19)

The room was quiet, with only the soft hum of the refrigerator to offset the beat of Jesse’s pulse pounding in his ears. He’d done it, and now he was struck with the implications, only now, when it was too late to withdraw.

But it was never too late, not really. If anyone could talk their way out of a deal or find a way around restrictions and requirements, it was Jesse. Worst case scenario, he could just pay what he was obligated to pay, and not use it. He walked around the empty apartment, his boots clicking on the tiles, trying to calm the thumping of his heart.

“Well, shit,” he murmured to himself. “I really did it.”

It was really more of a cottage than an apartment, only sharing one wall with its mirror twin. Duplex. Semi-detached. Whatever you called it, it was a major improvement over the squalid back-alley room he’d been crashing in for the last several years. Jesse flicked a switch and the fan in the peak of the vaulted ceiling began to rotate. He flicked it off again and the wooden blades gradually came to rest. It was like one large open room, really, with the sliding screen of the bedroom nook fully retracted. The only thing that divided off the kitchen was the see-through bank of cabinets over the sink. Without furniture, it was vast and echoing. Without furniture, it wasn’t much of a home.

Jesse could just see the tops of the pine trees against the clear blue sky through the kitchen skylight, even from the living room. Something about it pulled at his heart, some distant memory, some half-forgotten dream. He’d been thinking about it while he filled out the forms and handed over the deposits. It made him feel like he was in the mountains, and he wondered briefly if Hanzo would sense that too, or if it was his own weird quirk.

Hanzo. Would Hanzo like it here? Would he come and stay again once he'd seen it? Jesse turned and surveyed the bedroom. For all its simplicity and lack of solid walls, this was no tiny studio flat. It had a normal-sized bedroom. Smaller, perhaps, than Hanzo’s, but not by much. Here the ceiling was lower, and flat, changing the acoustics to something Jesse hoped would be easier to sleep in than that of the cavernous outer room. He could already imagine a large, soft bed and fresh white sheets, with Hanzo’s shining black head and muscled shoulder just peeking out of a rumpled duvet in the morning light.

Then, from nowhere, Jesse felt like a knife had been stuck in his gut. What if Hanzo thought this place meant Jesse wanted more space, more time away? Usually couples pulled up roots to move closer, not the opposite. But it wasn’t like that at all. Jesse wanted to be together more, not less, and he’d thought that if he had a home where Hanzo would visit...but Hanzo might not see it like that. In some ways he was still very traditional in his expectations, and Jesse was discovering that sometimes there were conflicts between those expectations and how he’d gotten used to living before he’d met Hanzo. Yeah, maybe Jesse was a little impulsive, but he liked to ascribe it more to quick thinking than lack of planning. Maybe he liked to vary his routine more than Hanzo did, but after twenty years in undercover and black ops work, that was an ingrained self-preservation tactic.

Finding and signing his name to this place, in itself, was already breaking all his personal rules, even though he’d gone through his usual channels of local acquaintance, with enough redundancies and screens that only a few of his most trusted contacts knew what he was doing and where he was. It hadn’t been much of a challenge, no more than setting up an off-the-books safe house had ever been. The challenge would come in making sure Hanzo knew he wasn’t trying to run away from their relationship. Assuming, of course, that he wasn’t. The thought alone was chilling. Could he have missed it? Jesse’d never been this deep before with someone. It was entirely possible that his subconscious was behind the wheel and his actions were actually taking him away from where he thought he was headed.

He shook his head briefly. No point in going down that road. Leaning up against the bare wall, he watched as the setting sun came in through the kitchen window, turning the whole place golden and then rose pink. The sunset brought with it a sense of peace that Jesse hadn’t felt in ages. It was done. He wrapped his fingers around the keys in his pocket. He was home. 


	2. Homecoming

The painted sign out front was a bit weathered and worn, but the front porch was swept clean and bright flowers bloomed in the planters that flanked the door. Bells tinkled as Jesse stepped inside.

“Well, if it ain't Jesse McCree. Walkin’ into my shop after all these years just like it was nothin’.” The older woman behind the counter laid her paperback novel down on the counter and stood up.

“Miss Ruthie. You haven't changed a bit.” Jesse smiled, not completely assured yet of his welcome, but determined to make it a warm one, regardless.

Her sizable bosom quaked as she laughed. “Pretty sure I have, but thanks for tryin’. You've definitely changed since you were fifteen. A good-lookin’ man for sure now.” Ruth noticed the prosthetic and her brow creased. “I heard you were runnin’ with a tough gang. They do that to you?”

Jesse automatically glanced down at his arm. “This? No, it's… Well, that's a complicated story. And I left the gang behind a long time ago, although if anyone comes around askin’ ‘bout me, you'd probably do best to say you haven't seen me. Still not the most popular guy in these parts.”

“Ah, I reckon that must be why my security cameras just now went on the fritz. What do they call that? Plausible deniability?” She nudged the shotgun back under the counter, having readied it when the security monitor had flickered and flashed.

“Something like that. Anyway, how've you been? I expected you'd have retired by now, and put your feet up somewhere nice.” Jesse was close enough to lean on the counter now, and he took his hat off and laid it carefully between the racks of dangly turquoise jewelry and scenic postcards.

Ruth laughed again. “I'll never retire. They'll have to lock me away. I'll just stay here and be another antique in a shop full of ‘em.” Her face turned serious. “I worried about you, boy. I promised your mother I'd keep an eye on you. First you got in with that tough crowd, and then you dropped off the face of the planet. There was a rumor you went to prison, but I never heard from you. You know you could’ve called me if you ever needed a hand. Or a lawyer.”

He scratched at his ear before answering. “I know, Miss Ruthie. It's a long story, and maybe one day there'll be a time and a place for me to tell you all about it, but I can't do that right now. It's been a wild ride so far, but I hope I've done enough good to balance out the bad.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “If you've kept ahold of any of that heroic little boy I used to know, I'm sure you have.” Ruth shifted heavily on her feet, and seemed to accept that her curiosity was not going to be satisfied. “Now, what brought you to me today? I gather it's not going to be to catch up on old times. Here for your mom's things?”

“I just wanted to check in on ya… And yeah, if you've still got that old box, I'll take it off your hands.” Jesse turned the charm up another notch, the skin around his eyes crinkling in concert with his lopsided grin.

“Of course I do! I told you I'd have it for you whenever you wanted it.” She glanced around the shop to assure herself it was indeed empty, then flicked the switch that locked the doors. “Come on back,” she told him, and led the way into the storage room.

Ruth took a direct path to a locked cabinet in an out-of-the-way corner of the stockroom. There was no need to hunt around or dredge her memory. She knew exactly where the box was, and hadn't forgotten it once in the twenty-five years she'd seen to its care.

“So I reckon this means you're settlin’ down at last? At what, thirty-five? Forty?” She prodded at him for gossip while she flipped through her key ring. “Leavin’ it a bit late, but if you've found someone to keep you comin’ home at night, that's all that matters.”

“Well, I…” Jesse tried to come up with an obfuscatory reply but his mind was suddenly blank, except for an image of Hanzo. “Yeah, I guess I am kinda settlin’ down. Maybe not quite like you're picturing it, Miss Ruthie.”

She smiled angelically up into his face as she handed him a small wooden chest and a tiny key. “Honey, as long as she makes you happy…” She stopped when she saw the unintentional shift in his expression. “Or he? Makes not one bit of difference. If you're happy, I'm happy. And you're both welcome to stop in anytime. Family discount. I just got in the most divine Shaker sideboard…”

Jesse grinned as Ruth rambled on about her antiques, touched by the easy acceptance of the old family friend. His fingers tightened around the edges of the chest and he followed her back out into the shop. She hugged him like a proud auntie and made him promise to come back and visit, preferably with his boyfriend, before she let him escape. 


	3. Welcome

Jesse turned off the water and dried his face. He looked into his reflection in the mirror, trying to see the fear in his freshly-groomed face. He was nervous. Jesse McCree, gunslinger, accomplished undercover operator and renegade, was nervous. His boyfriend of over a year was coming to visit, and it frightened him, and he wasn’t quite sure why. It felt like he was about to expose himself in a new and treacherous fashion.

He hung up the towel and turned off the light. Maybe that was it. He just wasn’t used to revealing so much at once. Jesse stepped out into the open living room and looked around, mentally checking off the list of things he’d acquired to furnish the apartment. It wasn’t fancy or crowded, and there wasn’t much in the way of art or other decoration, but it was clean and reasonably comfortable. He hoped Hanzo would agree. His stomach twisted again as he realized he’d know later today what Hanzo thought.

As he got dressed, he thought about how little he really owned. The closet wasn’t even half full, and neither was the solid, second-hand mission-style dresser he’d found for the bedroom, and clothes were actually something he had a use for. It had never really bothered him before, since less baggage meant more freedom, but now it felt like he didn’t even exist except as some kind of will-o’-the-wisp, some vague phantom that could appear and disappear at will. Jesse’s jaw tensed at the mental image. He twitched the bedcovers straight and re-fluffed the already-fluffy new pillows before looking over the entire place one last time.

“Well, it’ll have to do,” Jesse murmured to himself. “No time to change anything now.” With that, he turned and headed out the door to collect Hanzo at the station.

 

*

 

Hanzo found Jesse leaning against a battered pickup truck just barely out of line of sight of the train station, the brim of his hat pulled down to shade his eyes.

“Hey there!” Jesse greeted him. “Sorry I couldn’t have met you inside, but, well, they’re not really fans of my work.” He grabbed Hanzo’s large duffel and hefted it easily into the bed of the truck.

Hanzo nodded. “I understand. It was not difficult to find you here.” He adjusted his sunglasses and considered for a moment whether or not to stow his bow case with his bag. To the untrained eye, it looked much like a violin case, and though his bow was not as delicate as a violin, Hanzo definitely considered it to be a precious instrument. Treating it as such also helped to perpetuate the illusion that he was just another Asian virtuoso travelling the globe.

“There’s room in the cab for it, Han.” Jesse lips twitched with the hint of a grin. It was still the same Hanzo, overthinking tiny details. The thought was comforting at first, but he quickly recalled all the ways he’d figured that it could go horribly wrong over the next few days. It was his own brand of overthinking. Sighing, he pulled out his half-smoked cigar and lit it, then climbed into the truck and pressed the switch to start the electric motor.

Hanzo wedged the bow case in the seat between them. If Jesse’s greeting had been lacking in affection or enthusiasm, he hadn’t seemed to notice. Once he was sure his bow was safe, and he was comfortable, his eyes were on the scenery outside the open pickup window.

“Good trip?” Jesse asked, blowing smoke out into the breeze.

“Mmm. It was acceptable.” Hanzo didn’t turn his head. “It is so...open...here.” He gestured vaguely at the landscape. Even though they still drove through the city, the streets were broad, the sky above enormous, and the mountains impassive in the distance.

Jesse stubbed out his cigar in the ionizing ashtray he’d stuffed into the cupholder. “Easier to see who’s sneakin’ up on ya. I reckon that’d be challenging for someone in the ninja assassin line, seein’ as that’s how you operate.” He leaned forward a little further so he could see Hanzo’s face. “But there’s always after dark.”

“Ah,” was Hanzo's only reply. He stared at the world outside the pickup truck, trying to acclimatize himself, as the shops and cafes turned into houses. Then Jesse turned into a private drive that meandered through a small collection of tile-roofed stucco cottages scattered between slender pines and blooming honey locusts.

“Here we are then,” Jesse said as he pulled the pickup into the carport and switched off the motor. He jumped out, grabbed Hanzo's bag from the back, and had his key in the door in one swift movement, all while Hanzo was still collecting his bow case.

Hanzo had the distinct impression that Jesse was uncomfortable about something, and it was distracting. But this was his first visit to Jesse's territory, so surely he was feeling much the same as Hanzo had the first time Jesse had visited him. He stepped through the door that was being held open for him and set his case down. Then he pulled his bag from Jesse's hand and let it fall to the floor.

Jesse didn't have any time to react as Hanzo moved swiftly into his arms. It made the tension in his belly relax, and he bent to press his cheek to Hanzo's, his fingers automatically burying themselves in Hanzo's hair. Lord, he always forgot how good this was, no matter how much he thought about it when they were apart.

Hanzo’s nose was against Jesse’s throat, inhaling everything that made Jesse so recognizable, from the cigar smoke and the smell of the desert wind to his favorite cologne and the warmth of his skin. He held on tight and just breathed until he was convinced this was real, and any thoughts he may have had that Jesse had cooled towards him fell away as he felt his lover’s body curl around him.

When they parted at last, the very air felt different to Jesse. His lips curved more easily into a smile. “So let me give you the tour. It’s short. In fact, we don’t even have to move.” He pointed as he spoke. “This is the living room, and that’s the dining room, and beyond that’s the kitchen. Over in the corner is the bathroom and straight across from us is the bedroom. Hope that’s enough to keep ya from gettin’ lost.”

Hanzo smiled too, his arm still around Jesse’s waist as he followed the directions. “I am sure I will manage.” He finally noticed his surroundings, the rugged leather couch, the modestly sized holoscreen projector, the glass-doored kitchen cabinets and glossy terracotta tile floor. The bed, with its white comforter and soft pillows, looked extremely comfortable, and after his long train trip with its constant rattles and noise, he longed to just crawl under the covers and sleep in the silence. But the growling in his stomach alerted them both to other more pressing needs.

“Hungry?” Jesse asked. “I can make us some tacos, or if you’re up for going out, I know a great little cantina where we can get drinks and better tacos.”

As much as he just wanted to collapse, Hanzo knew part of his exhaustion was because he was hungry, and he did really want to see everything Jesse wanted to show him. “We can go out. I could use a drink.”

“How do you feel about margaritas?”


	4. Unexpected Visitor

“Jesse McCree?” The accent was French, but not quite. Creole? Jesse turned to assess the man who stood next to their table. He was tall, dark-skinned, well-built, younger than Jesse by a few years at least; a formidable opponent if he could handle himself in a fight, and he looked like he was plenty capable. His jeans, t-shirt and puffy vest fit right in with the crowd in the bar, but something about his stance suggested he was more used to wearing tactical gear.

Jesse began to stand up, but the visitor waved him back into his chair and pulled out one for himself. “I don't believe we’ve had the pleasure…?” Jesse’s voice was as smooth as usual, but with a razor sharp edge that was clear even above the Latin dance music that filled the cantina.

The man smiled. “We have a mutual friend. I have some information, and she said that you have ways of getting information into the right hands.” He moved slightly to reveal a folder tucked inside his vest. “You can call me Baptiste.”

Across the bar, Jesse saw Hanzo come out from the bathroom, and made a tiny flicking gesture. Hanzo saw it and faded into the background. Jesse knew he'd watch from a distance until something went south or he received another signal.

“Well now, Baptiste, you could have just called, or sent me a message. You showing up here on my turf unannounced is a little off-putting, if you catch my drift. And a little risky for yourself, too, since I have a few friends watching my back here.” Jesse swirled the ice around in his glass. “What makes you think your information would be of use to me?”

“It concerns some other, ah, mutual acquaintances. Former colleagues.” He signaled the waiter, and requested a drink.

Something clicked in Jesse's memory. “Wait, I know who you are. You're the one who mutinied.” His eyes narrowed. “Trying to play both sides now?”

Baptiste remained relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and the waiter delivered his Cuba libre on a neat white square of a napkin. “You know what it was like after the war. Orphaned, starving, terrified. You took the first hand that offered you any kind of security. If you were lucky, you ended up fighting for peace and justice.” He paused, and took a sip of his drink. “You were lucky. I was not.” His dark eyes were deadly serious as they met Jesse's in the dim light of the bar. “I am trying to make up for that mistake.”

Jesse tried to sort out all the details he'd just been given. This man had shown up in Jesse's world, at considerable risk to himself, claiming he was making up for his past, and pretended to know things about Jesse that he didn't discuss with anyone. It all led him to a very particular conclusion.

“Look,” he began. “Tell your friend I appreciate her help, but if I need information I can find it myself. I have my own sources.”

Baptiste laughed. “I will let you have the file. Do with it what you will.” He pulled the dark blue folder out of his vest and slid it across the table to Jesse, who flipped through it quickly, just enough to ensure that the contents were paper and not explosives, before slipping it into his own jacket. Baptiste watched as he did it. “‘Thank you, Baptiste!’ Oohhh, you're welcome!” He laughed again. “Now, let me buy you a drink. Or will your boyfriend get mad? I will buy him one too.” He flagged down the waiter once more.

Jesse opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing to ignore the crack. Instead he remained focused on the more serious issues. “I just have to ask, what's the quid pro quo?” He tucked his hair behind his ear, another signal, and in his peripheral vision he saw Hanzo materialize from the shadows on the other side of the cantina.

The smile faded momentarily from Baptiste’s face. “Quid pro quo? I just need you on my side. To believe me when I say I want to take them down, put a stop to their destruction. You know who I mean.” He broke off as the waiter arrived. “Whatever my friends are having, get them another, please.” He dropped a small pile of credits on the table. The waiter swept them up and went to collect the order.

Then Baptiste stood up, and took a long swallow of his cocktail. “You know what? I have taken enough of your time. Please, enjoy your evening, and make my apologies to your friend.” He bowed his head briefly, and before Jesse could say a word, Baptiste had slipped away into the mass of bodies between their table and the door.

As the waiter was setting out a fresh round of drinks, Hanzo rejoined Jesse at the table. “What was that about?”

Jesse thanked the waiter. When they were once again alone, Jesse replied, “Looks like I may have a new informant.” 

 

*

 

Once again, Hanzo dropped all pretence of decorum as soon as the door was closed behind them, and Jesse was entwined in his lover's embrace before he knew what was happening. They kissed, lips and tongues interleaving, and Jesse could taste a hint of the margarita salt that still lingered on Hanzo's skin. He could feel his pulse begin to pound, but there was a pressing issue that he had to deal with before he could give in to his body's demands, and it came in the form of an inflexible packet of papers that was still wedged between them.

Jesse unwillingly pulled away, breathless. “You go ahead and get ready for bed, love. I have to take care of this file.” He brushed the stray hair from Hanzo's face, as baffled as always that something so lovely was so close to him. Hanzo nodded, his lips parted, reddened and wet from their kisses, and it was everything Jesse could do to keep himself from just throwing the folder carelessly down on the table and diving back into that mouth.

But if what he'd glimpsed when he'd flipped through it earlier was any indication, this wasn't the kind of thing a good operative left lying around. And whether he liked it or not, Jesse couldn't ignore his training. So he let Hanzo slip out of his arms, and pulled the folder out of his jacket.

The file was about ten or fifteen pages, enough that he couldn't neatly fold it and tuck it somewhere smaller, but not so thick he couldn't bend it. He stepped into the kitchen and looked around for a suitable hiding spot. Under the contents of a drawer? Nah, too easy. Most of the drawers were pretty empty. Between the stove and the cabinet? That'd work, but there was the risk of destroying the file by heat in the long term.

Jesse looked up. The recessed lights. He'd only seen that done once, and if the cans above the surface of the ceiling were the right kind, it would work very well. The low voltage bulbs barely put off any heat, so that wouldn't be a problem, either. He got a chair and stepped up to pull one of the lights down, and on finding that it would work, he removed the papers from the folder and rolled them up to tuck into the frame that held the light. He replaced the light in the hole, making sure nothing poked out awkwardly, then climbed back down with the empty folder.

His mouth twisted as he contemplated the folder. Better to at least tuck it out of sight, he decided. Jesse opened the silverware drawer and slid the empty blue folder in beneath the organizer tray, and closed the drawer. There. He switched off the lights and headed for the bedroom, where more urgent matters awaited.

Hanzo waited for him beneath the duvet, his skin golden in the lamplight against the white fabric, his eyes sleepy but his lips still as needy when Jesse bent to kiss them as they had been at the door.

“Just one more minute, I promise. Let me get rid of some of these clothes.” Jesse smiled, and let his hand slide down Hanzo's neck and over the smooth skin of his shoulder and bicep. He stepped over to the closet and tore off his shirt and jeans, and peeled off his socks, tossing them with no pretense onto the floor. He disconnected his prosthetic arm and set it next to the bed.

Then, with some haste, he clambered under the covers next to his boyfriend. Hanzo's eyes were closed.

“Han?” Jesse asked softly.

“Mmm.”

“You asleep?”

“Mmmm.” And with a tiny puff of a sigh, Hanzo was out. Jesse leaned over him to switch off the light, then snuggled up next to him.

“Oh well,” Jesse murmured. He planted a small kiss on Hanzo's shoulder, and relaxed to let sleep take him. 


	5. An Anchor in the Night

He came back to consciousness like a deep sea diver returning to the surface, the weight of sleep and the burden of his dreams fading away gradually. It took a few minutes for Jesse to realize what woke him. His left arm ached intensely, with absolute disregard for the fact that half of it no longer existed. He lay there for what seemed an interminable period as he tried to will himself away from hurting, tried to push back the memories. The cramping came in waves, and each time a wave faded away, he thought he’d beat it, and then the next wave rolled in. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t think about anything else. It was him, the darkness, and the pain.

Finally he gave up and attempted to get out of the bed without waking Hanzo, who still slept peacefully by his side. Jesse padded silently into the bathroom and pulled the aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. He popped the lid with his thumb and dumped a few tablets out on the counter. Picking up the two he wanted, he left the rest and the open bottle sitting there as another wall of pain hit him, and headed for the kitchen, where the moonglow through the skylight was enough to navigate by.

Jesse laid the tablets down as he reached for a glass. He flipped the sink faucet on and filled his glass halfway, looked at it, then dumped it out and turned off the water. His hand was shaking a little as he set the glass down, and he grimaced at the noise it made on the hard counter surface. He looked up at the cabinet again, his eyes on the tall square shape barely visible through the glass door and the shadows. Jesse sighed and pulled it out. After carefully working the cork stopper out one-handed, he refilled his glass, this time with whiskey. He knocked the aspirin back with a hearty swallow, and as the familiar burn lit up his throat, he leaned back against the counter and gazed through the skylight at the stars bright enough to compete with the moonlight. His fingers automatically began to knead the muscles of his shoulder, trying to fool his brain into relaxing the part of his arm that no longer existed.

When he picked up his glass again, a movement at the far corner of the living room caught his eye. A sleepy and rumpled Hanzo stepped around the sliding screen that divided off the bedroom from the open living area. He padded barefoot across the cool tile towards Jesse.

“Trouble sleeping?” Hanzo asked in a soft voice.

“Yeah. My arm hurts.” Jesse quickly drained his glass and set it in the sink. The whiskey stung less going down this time, and he almost sighed with relief as the heat of it began to penetrate his body at last.

Hanzo’s eyes missed little, even in the dark of the night. Jesse’s demons were not the same as his own, but the battles were like enough that he understood. He reached out and gently stroked his lover’s shoulder.

“Come back to bed,” he said.

Jesse shook his head. “I’ll just keep you up. I’ll stay out here on the couch.”

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth twitched as he stifled a wry smile. The couch wasn’t big enough for Jesse’s lanky frame, and they both knew it. He said nothing, waiting, not accepting Jesse’s answer as final, and trying to think of something he could do to ease his lover’s troubles.

Jesse ran his thumb several times around the polished wooden disc that topped the whiskey bottle stopper before wiggling it out again. He retrieved his glass and poured out another measure. As he knocked it back, he hoped Hanzo wasn’t thinking about some kind of sexy distraction, because as much as he normally enjoyed that kind of thing, he just really wasn’t up for it now.

Jesse returned his glass to the sink and wandered over to pull the long shutter back from the window slightly so he could peer out towards the quiet street. Dawn was still hours away, and nothing was moving in the darkness. He felt the warmth of Hanzo’s body through his thin undershirt as arms slid around his waist.

“How do you deal with the dreams, Han? Do they ever get better?”

Hanzo pressed his face against Jesse’s shoulder blade. He tried to form an encouraging response, but at last he gave up and simply answered honestly. “The dreams come when they will, and then I do not sleep. All I can do is try to keep myself whole in the daylight and hope the night will be kind.”

Jesse stared out into the night, his hand over Hanzo’s where it lay on his stomach.

“I have an idea that may help. Please come to bed,” Hanzo said again, and this time Jesse allowed himself to be led.

Hanzo didn’t get straight back into bed. Instead he went for his duffel bag, and unpacked half of it into a neat stack on the floor before pulling out the object he was apparently seeking.

“Lie down,” he instructed. Jesse complied, the physical ache within him beginning to ease slightly. Hanzo began to unfold what appeared to be simply a small blanket, and as he spread it out to cover Jesse from shoulder to ankle, Jesse was surprised to find it was heavy.

“What…?” he began, but trailed off, unable to form a useful question.

Hanzo got back into bed next to him. “It is designed to calm anxiety.” He swallowed, not really wanting to get into why he brought it with him, but perhaps it was easier to explain in the darkness than it would be in the light of morning. “I was concerned that I might need it.”

“It helps you sleep?” Jesse asked as he adjusted his head more comfortably on the pillow. The whiskey was making things a little blurry, both visually and mentally.

“It helps me be still.” His voice was quiet, intimate, and Hanzo felt strangely like he was confessing one of his most private secrets. He leaned in close and left a kiss near Jesse’s ear before settling back under the covers himself. When he used it himself, the weight of the blanket was like a protecting hand over his body, and he hoped it was the same for his lover.

Jesse turned to look at Hanzo, and though only the outline of his head and shoulder were truly visible, He imagined he was looking into the sad brown eyes that forever tugged at his heart. Reaching out, he found Hanzo’s hand in the darkness, pulling it to hold on his own chest before closing his eyes and resigning himself to the long wait for morning.


	6. New Worlds

Hanzo woke to sunlight peeking in through the cracks in the shutters and Jesse rumbling softly as he slept. He remained still, trying to wake slowly but unable to stop the flood of thoughts that assailed him once he remembered where he was. It wasn't long before he surrendered, and carefully extracted himself from the bed, hoping to avoid disturbing Jesse. Hanzo was glad his lover had been able to sleep at last and wanted to give him as much chance of doing so as possible.

He feared his caution was in vain, however, when he turned on the shower and the faucet gave a boisterous squeal. He sighed mightily, and stepped into the stream of hot water.

As he washed, Hanzo considered all the new places and events of the last few days. He was definitely glad to be off the train. And Jesse's apartment was nice, even if it wasn't quite as modern as his own. He glared at the noisy faucet.

There was something slightly odd about the place, though. Hanzo tried to distill that vague sense into a concrete description, and as he rinsed his hair, it all came together. The apartment didn't feel lived in. He hadn't been there long enough yet to really see Jesse interact with his surroundings, but there was an indefinable something that he could feel already. Maybe the furniture was too new, the floors too clean. There weren’t enough personal details.

Hanzo shook his head slightly as he placed his hands on the tile and let the hot water run down his back. Jesse spent hardly any time at home, anyway. He was always back and forth between the Recall interim base and Hanzo's place and wherever in the world he needed to be to chase down leads on Talon or Reaper or whatever else he was hunting on any given day. It wasn't too strange, really, that his home might feel a bit antiseptic. He closed his eyes and tried to push away the disquiet in his mind.

The squeak of the faucet had indeed pulled Jesse immediately up from the depths of slumber, and in short order he had prepared coffee and retrieved his new file from its hiding place. He got everything set up on the coffee table with his laptop and the file, but before he dug into the stolen secrets, there was some slightly more pleasant research he wanted to do. He perched on the edge of the couch and opened his laptop.

The weighted blanket had definitely helped him rest. On any other night, even with a liberal dose of whiskey and aspirin, the best he could have hoped for was dozing off and treading only the outermost borders of sleep. Maybe it was just having Hanzo with him that solved the problem, but if the blanket helped, maybe he should look into getting his own. He typed a few words into the web search field. A long list of results appeared when he hit enter, and he scrolled through it, looking for a vendor with a local outlet. After the first page, the search results were no longer exclusively “where to buy” entries. Jesse paused his scrolling, his mouse pointer hovering over the title of a magazine article about the long and storied history of weighted blankets. The next listing was for a scientific paper, which apparently was looking at the efficacy of commonly used sensory integration tools in neurodivergent populations. He stopped, something shifting in his mind, clicking into place. Jesse selected the link and read the abstract for the paper, then began typing more search terms into the websearch, his coffee cooling beside him as he rapidly devoured information instead.

The bathroom door opened and Hanzo stepped out, his dirty underwear balled up in his fist, his dark hair lying in damp strands on his shoulders. Jesse looked up, and when their eyes met, he felt for the first time that he might actually be seeing a hint of what lay behind that usually-serious visage. Everything went upside-down for a moment, and then it righted itself. This was still the same Hanzo, the same man he had fallen for all those months ago. It was only a new lens with which to view him.

“Hey, sugar,” Jesse greeted his lover. “There’s coffee ready if you want some.”

Hanzo nodded, but continued on his path to the bedroom to stow his dirty laundry before making his way to the kitchen. By the time Hanzo was sitting cross-legged on the couch next to Jesse, coffee in hand, all of Jesse’s earlier search results had been filed away and he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, flipping through the pages of the file he’d acquired from Baptiste.

“Did you sleep?” asked Hanzo.

“I did, a bit. Thank you for sharing your blanket. I hope you didn’t need it.” Jesse turned his head to meet his boyfriend’s gaze.

Hanzo smiled slightly. “No, I did not require it. I am glad it helped.” He slid a hand across Jesse’s shoulder and pressed his thumb into the bundle of tight muscles at the base of his neck.

Jesse couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped as Hanzo intuitively homed in on a knot of tension. Hanzo unfurled his legs and set his coffee cup down next to Jesse’s. He reached for a throw cushion and dropped it on the floor beneath Jesse’s knees.

“Sit,” he directed. “I will rub your shoulders. And you can still read your papers.”

There was no argument from Jesse as he shifted himself to the floor as ordered. Hanzo’s knees supported his shoulders as he leaned into the manipulation of Hanzo’s fingers. But he didn’t get back to work straight away.

He groaned softly again as Hanzo massaged his back with a firm touch that was just the right balance between gentle caress and painful pressure. “Hey, Han? Hey, are you still talking...oof…” He broke off as Hanzo hit a tender spot. “Are you still talking with Lúcio?”

“Hmmm? Yes, from time to time.” Hanzo brushed Jesse’s hair off his neck and kneaded soft circles up to the base of his skull and back down again.

“I was thinking, I don’t know, maybe I oughta give him a call sometime.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, not really even half of one. Jesse had thought about trying to find some way of dealing with his nightmares besides self-medicating. That wasn’t the only reason why he was asking now, though.

Hanzo’s fingers did not stop, but he did not answer right away. He considered the figure before him, the pink curve of the ear that peeked out from the sleep-ruffled brown hair, the golden neck with its sprinkling of freckles and the beginnings of weather lines, the square shoulders and lean, muscled back. Jesse seemed so strong, so impervious to the storms of life, but Hanzo was beginning to see the shadows he carried, buried inside.

“He has suggested a number of tools to manage stress that I have found helpful. Perhaps he might help you too.” Hanzo was getting distracted by the exposed skin of the back of Jesse’s neck, how it curved down to vanish into the loose collar of his white t-shirt.

Jesse was oblivious to Hanzo’s loss of focus as he sat quietly, his hands in his lap, enjoying the touch and trying to figure out how to get the information he wanted without asking uncomfortable questions of his partner. “I don’t want anything on my record, though, you know? Overwatch may not be official anymore but there’s still a file on me, and Winston and Angela still love to document everything. He never diagnosed you with anything that they could track, did he?”

Hanzo thought back to the first time he’d met with Lúcio in that strange room in the tunnels of the German base. He’d been just an anonymized research subject then, and now, he wasn’t sure exactly what sort of relationship he had with the activist pop music star. He remembered clearly Lúcio telling him that what passed between them was confidential outside of documenting his response to the experimental music therapy treatment. And there had been no additional music therapy sessions since Hanzo had returned home after the first few had been completed, although he had revisited some of the music they had used multiple times.

“I do not believe Lúcio is qualified to make diagnoses. He gave me none. He told me that the only information he was recording was directly related to the experimental treatment he was administering. And that treatment ended when we were released from protective captivity.” Hanzo leaned forward and briefly pressed his dry lips to the warm skin at the edge of the white cotton circle of Jesse’s collar. “About the communication since, I cannot say. It has not been frequent, and I do not think I have revealed much. I ask for help with a situation, and he gives suggestions. He gives...validation.”

Jesse’s eyes had closed involuntarily when he felt the tickle of Hanzo’s kiss. “Have you ever wondered if you had something diagnosable? Have you ever wanted answers to why some things seemed difficult for you but not others?” It hit Jesse that asking these questions of Hanzo was getting dangerously close to asking them of himself. Maybe he really should get in touch with Lúcio.

Hanzo’s hands at last fell still, and he rested them on Jesse’s shoulders. “It is not the way I was taught to think of the struggles of life. Everyone walks a different path. Some of us may have to fight more than others.” It was hard to feel the weight of the sadness that was his constant companion while he was in this place, with his beautiful lover leaning against him and the morning sunlight warming the tiles.

“Mmmm, yeah. Definitely some truth there.” Jesse knew he should let it go, having satisfied his curiosity. But there was an incongruity that struck him, and he couldn’t stop himself from pursuing it. “Can I ask one more thing? Then we can do breakfast.” He tilted his head back and looked up at Hanzo, who nodded briefly in response.

It was a struggle to find the right words. “If you have no interest in what Western medicine could tell you about your brain and how it works, why would you seek the advice of someone who follows western guidelines? I’m not trying to challenge your choices, I’m just curious. It seems like a bit of a disconnect.” Jesse leaned his head on Hanzo’s knee, hoping he hadn’t pushed too far. But his lover’s face was quiet, no rumblings of temper to be seen.

“I do not feel I need to find excuses for who I am or what I’ve become, and in that respect I have no need for Western psychotherapy. But after the sessions in Germany, I felt...different, even though I did not speak of what was in my mind. I thought, one does not build a house without tools, and if my tools are broken, if they no longer function as they must, perhaps I need new tools. Perhaps, if my house is to be Western, I need Western tools.” Hanzo’s fingertips stroked the side of Jesse’s neck, feeling his pulse beating a regular rhythm beneath the skin. His voice came out much softer when he spoke again, and Jesse almost had to hold his breath to hear it. “I have been so angry for so long, and I do not want to hurt you with my anger.”

Jesse reached up to find Hanzo’s hand on his shoulder, and he laced their fingers together. “Like you don’t know I think it’s hot as hell that you could kill me in a split second if you wanted to,” he said, his words light, but the crack in his voice betraying how affected he was by what Hanzo had told him.


	7. Overlook

From the top of the mountain, they could see the whole city spread like a blanket across the valley, including the dusty gray pockets of destruction that still lay abandoned since the Omnic Crisis. The mid-day sun was bright and hot, and there was no reprieve from it on the exposed ridge. Hanzo could feel the sweat trickling down his spine.

Jesse adjusted his hat against the glare. “A few more days like this and that hint of green you can see now will be history, except for the bit along the river.” He turned and continued along the trail, dry gravel crunching under his feet. Hanzo followed him. They stopped again at the final overlook before the trail disappeared into the trees on the east side of the ridge. Jesse leaned forward, one elbow on the railing, and fished his latest half-smoked cigar out of his pocket. He chewed on it, unlit, and surveyed the city: the river, the highways and railways that defined Albuquerque.

“Ain’t a bad town, ‘specially not from up here.” He took a deep breath and looked over at where Hanzo was flexing his fingers on the railing. “Hanzo,” he began. Hanzo turned, but his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, and the rest of his face revealed little. Jesse’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I have a confession to make.” He couldn’t look at the impassive sunglasses while he spoke, and cast his gaze back out over the valley.

Hanzo felt a cold, hard knot form in his gut. His hands stilled on the warm metal rail. He watched Jesse’s face, and waited.

“I, uh, well. I only just moved into Albuquerque. Into the apartment.” He took his cigar out of his mouth with one hand and rubbed his jaw with the other. “Six weeks ago.”

Hanzo blinked behind his shades. The sun beat down on his head, and he could smell the resinous scent of the firs and spruces behind them rising with the heat. He didn’t quite understand what Jesse was getting at, but now the unlived-in feeling of the apartment made sense.

Jesse put the cigar back in his mouth and sucked on it. “I just wanted to tell you I didn’t do it because I wanted to spend less time with you. I was hoping that if I had a nice place, you’d come stay at mine sometimes, when you’re not busy.” He glanced back over, but the shades put him off again. “My old place in Santa Fe, well… It wasn’t really what you’d call comfortable.” He coughed. “Or clean.”

There was a long pause as Jesse waited for a reaction. Hanzo finally spoke. “What do you want me to say? That I am upset? That I do not care?”

Jesse shifted on his feet, turning to face the wind-bent trees that covered the eastern slope. He propped himself up on the railing again. “I was afraid you’d think it meant I wasn’t serious about us, or I was trying to pull away from you. Because a couple is supposed to move closer together, right, when they’re, you know, serious?” He rotated to face Hanzo, trying to peer through the dark tinted lenses. His hand covered his lover’s where it rested on the steel. Then the words, so hard to find before, all came tumbling out. “I’m no good at relationships, Han, I’ve never really had any. It didn’t occur to me what kind of message I’d be sending until I’d signed all the paperwork. If you don’t like it, if you want me closer to you, I’ll find a way out of it. I’ve talked my way out of prison, I can get out of a lease. I should have asked you about it sooner, but tell me now what you want and I’ll make it happen. I don’t care what it is or what it takes, I just want to be with you.”

Hanzo’s lips parted. This appeal surprised him. He couldn’t claim he hadn’t thought about what their relationship meant for his future, but he was no more accustomed to being part of a couple than Jesse was. He hadn’t actually expected Jesse to ask for his blessing, or make such a declaration. The tightness in his belly faded.

“It is a pleasant dwelling. I see no reason why you should abandon it, unless it does not please you.” He turned his hand beneath his boyfriend’s, and wove their fingers together. “I am honored that you would seek my approval, but your choice of residence is more yours than mine.”

Jesse didn’t know what kind of response he had hoped for, but while Hanzo was not overjoyed, neither did he seem upset. He was getting used to his boyfriend’s understated reactions. “I guess I was thinking maybe we could split our time between your place and mine now, in between jobs? Anyway, you’re welcome to stay with me anytime, for as long as you like.”

Hanzo’s lips curved into a small smile. “And you, with me. As we have done.” He squeezed Jesse’s hand, and was rewarded with a radiant grin.

“Hey, let’s go get something cold to drink. You’re looking even hotter than usual.” Jesse laughed, his spirits high with the weight now lifted off his shoulders.

As they headed back up the trail to the parking lot, a light breeze stirred the forest into life. Hanzo sighed with relief as the sweat on his skin cooled and he felt less like he was going to either spontaneously combust or melt into a puddle. The early summer wildflowers were bending and nodding as they passed, and as he looked down at a particularly attractive one at the edge of the path, he noticed his boot was coming untied. He slipped his fingers from Jesse’s hand and knelt to address the situation. The breeze dropped off, but some part of him noted that it was strange that the rustling sounds continued...only it was an unusual sort of rustle--more of a rattle, really.

“Hanzo, love…” Jesse’s voice was lilting, like he was talking to a child. Hanzo looked up at him to see his gun in his hand, pointing at something just over his shoulder. “Don’t move.” A single gunshot rang out across the mountainside, painfully loud in Hanzo’s ears. It kept reverberating through his skull as he stood up and looked to see what had required such means. He almost couldn’t hear his lover’s voice when he spoke again to explain his actions.

“Rattlesnake. Just about to get ya.” Jesse lifted it up by the tail, and even without its head, it was nearly as long as Hanzo was tall. He flung the corpse over the precipice, and it vanished quickly down the western slope. “You okay?” he asked.

Hanzo nodded. The sun was too bright and too hot, the noise had been too loud and too sudden, and now his head was pounding from it all, but he hadn’t been bitten by a snake, so he was okay.

“That’s good, ‘cause I reckon we might not want to hang around. Just because half of New Mexico is carrying, it doesn’t mean people don’t notice when you fire off a round. I guess it’s lucky after all that the café isn’t open today.” Jesse squeezed his shoulder and they resumed their journey to the truck. Hanzo was glad it wasn’t far, because he was suddenly very tired. “We’ll pick up something to eat on the way home, ‘kay?”

Hanzo nodded again, and climbed into the passenger seat. He closed his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as Jesse turned the truck around and they began the five thousand foot descent through the trees back to the open valley floor and the city. The hum of the tires on the pavement and the softly-playing radio lulled Hanzo into a semi-doze long before they reached the main road. 


	8. Storms in the Valley

“I'm sorry I have to work while you're here, love, but I got a sense of urgency from Baptiste when he handed me this file, and I need to evaluate it and see if action needs to be taken immediately.” Jesse had the sheaf of papers in one hand and, to Hanzo's surprise, a pair of reading glasses in the other.

Hanzo inclined his head in acceptance. “I am perfectly content to have a quiet evening. Do what you must. I can entertain myself.”

Jesse leaned in and stole a quick kiss before grinning and shoving the glasses on. As Jesse spread the pages of the file out on the dining table, Hanzo curled up on the couch with a book.

Within the hour, Jesse was pacing the floor, chewing on an unlit cigar, staring intently at the page he carried and running his fingers through his hair. Hanzo watched him with a mixture of mild amusement and curiosity. The wind had picked up outside, and Hanzo could hear it swishing through the nearby trees. It was unsettling, like the air was full of static.

Heavy drops of rain began to pound the tiles of the roof, and a clap of thunder sounded in the distance. It was almost as if the weather was responding to Jesse's increasing sense of unease. He strode back to the table and picked up another page, and then another. His eyes rapidly tracked across the words and images as he paced.

At last, he flopped down in a chair across from Hanzo with a sound of anguish. “I don't fucking believe it,” he groaned. “I mean, I do, but I can't.” Jesse dropped the slightly curled sheets of paper on the coffee table and buried his head in his hands, pushing his fingers behind his glasses. “How could I have been so blind?”

“What is it?” Hanzo asked simply.

Jesse pulled his hands away from his face and leaned back, removing his glasses as he did so. “This file is documented surveillance on Reaper. By Talon. From  _ before _ the bombings at HQ. Way before. Before they let him join their team.”

Hanzo's brows drew together. “This is not new, is it? We have heard tales of Reaper's shadowy activities for many years. I remember the news stories from my boyhood.”

“Yes, but this file…” Jesse nudged the edge of the papers with the toe of his boot, causing the pages to spread apart on the table. “This file gives dates and locations, every one of which correlates exactly with a Blackwatch operation. Every. One. He was doing this under our noses. Under  _ my _ nose. Dammit.” He scrubbed at his beard with his fingers, not noticing yet that Hanzo's eyes had locked onto one of the black and white surveillance photos.

Hanzo's legs unfolded mechanically, the coolness of the tile against the warm soles of his bare feet going completely unheeded as he leaned forward to select a page. “This…is Hanamura,” he said, his voice flat. His eyes scanned the information but his mind took none of it in. He looked up at Jesse with a pained expression.

Jesse knew he'd fucked up, and good. He hadn't meant to let Hanzo see that sheet, but in his dismay he'd forgotten he carried it. His mouth opened and for a long moment nothing came out.

“You said… Blackwatch. In Hanamura?” Hanzo glanced back down and read the date on the report, and this time it sunk in. He stood up slowly. “Blackwatch was in Hanamura, days before I… And my brother…” His voice was getting harsher with every syllable. “You were spying on us? Were you ever going to tell me, and explain yourself? How many secrets are you keeping from me?” The sheet of paper slipped from his fingers, unregarded. It felt like his body had caught fire, every inch of him raging at the betrayal of this man he'd let get so close.

“Hanzo, please. Listen to me for a sec.” Jesse was practically begging. He knew he had to make it quick, because Hanzo was on the verge of exploding, and if he wanted to defuse the situation he only had the narrowest of windows in which to achieve it. “Yes, we went to Hanamura. At Genji's invitation. He wanted to trade information for an extraction. He wanted to buy your freedom, and his, to save you both from the downfall he anticipated.” He could see the heat in Hanzo's eyes, and he wasn't sure if what he said was sinking in, but he had to keep trying.

“We were there to meet with him, not to spy on you or anyone. And then he arranged the pick-up, and we found him there, pretty beat up, and…”

Hanzo interrupted. “ _ You  _ were there. Yourself.” It came out as a hiss. “You. Did. Not. Tell. Me. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?” He said something in Japanese that Jesse could only assume was a curse.

“Hanzo, listen. We found Genji dying and we couldn't find you, so we took him with us and kept him alive. You can ask him.” Jesse gulped for air as the room felt like it was closing in on him. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it, but you never wanted to talk about what happened… then...and I respect that. I didn't want to bring it up and hurt you more.”

All he got in reply was a death stare so powerful he could feel his heart wither in his chest. He stood up and stretched his hand tentatively across the gap between them, but Hanzo slapped it away.

“Don't touch me,” Hanzo spat, and he turned and was gone into the night, leaving the front door to swing in the wind.

“Hanzo, wait!” Jesse went to the door and called after him. “There's a storm…” And then he was out in it himself, and the rain mixed with his tears as he fell to his knees in the driveway and sobbed.

Hanzo ran. His head was full of flames, and he ran to try to escape the inferno. He barely noticed the stones that bit into his bare feet as he raced down the dark and empty street. The storm was faster, though, and by the time he stopped in a shop doorway, chest heaving, it was directly overhead. The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed as Hanzo sagged against the rough, faux-adobe wall. A wave of small hailstones bounced and crackled over the pavement.

He couldn't outrun his past. His memories were always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment his guard fell. They confronted him now, demanding his attention, and details he hadn't remembered in years presented themselves.  _ The rain _ , he thought. He remembered the rain that night, how it made the temple floor dark and slick. And how it had fallen, heedless, on the crumpled form that had been his brother. He could still smell the blood…

Hanzo rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. The spinning of his mind was slowing at last, and he realized that the blood he smelled was his own, and the burning pain of his feet finally registered. It was nothing compared to what Genji had suffered. By his own hand. Nothing.

But a new thread had woven its way into the tapestry of the scene. Genji had not only survived, he had been  _ rescued. _

Hanzo took a deep breath. He had to go back. 

 

*

 

Jesse was sitting on his front step, waiting, the cherry on his cigar glowing brightly as he inhaled. The rain had stopped, although he could still hear the distant rumble of thunder as the storm traveled east. Hanzo had to come back. He had to. For his things, at least. For his bow.

He didn't know what else to do but wait. He'd never seen Hanzo break like this, never felt so responsible for his rage as he did now. Jesse had lost track of how long he'd been gone, his cigar the only measure of time passing. It was nearly finished when there was a movement out at the edge of his vision. He stood up, pulling the stub end of the cigar from his lip.

Hanzo walked carefully up the driveway, his t-shirt and athletic pants still soaking wet, his hair fallen mostly free of where he had bound it back, sodden tangles stuck around his face. He walked right up to where Jesse was standing, and stopped just out of reach.

Jesse was afraid to speak, afraid to get it wrong again. He'd never wanted to get things right so badly before, and it paralyzed him. But he had to say something.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured. His feelings of shame made him glance away, but his need to see Hanzo's response drew his gaze right back.

There was a break in the racing clouds overhead, and for a brief moment, the scene was outlined in silver by the waxing moon. Everything that Hanzo had meant to say, the words that had looped over and over through his head as he walked back to confront Jesse, they all fell away. Now he was empty, the anger completely evaporated. Jesse’s sincerity was clear.

“I ran," was all Hanzo could manage. His eyes closed and his brows drew together, his forehead creasing as if in pain, and Jesse realized he was shivering.

“Hanzo, come inside. You're soaked and it's cold.” Jesse backed up the steps to the door and opened it, the warm light from inside marking a golden path on the concrete.

Hanzo followed him through the doorway, stepping gingerly onto the tile. Trying to maintain his dignity seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright. He made it as far as one of the wooden dining chairs and sank into it with some relief. Jesse grabbed his serape from the peg by the door and tucked it around Hanzo’s shaking body.

“I’ll grab some towels and make you some tea, ‘kay?” He stepped away, moving to follow through on his promise, but when he glanced back he noticed in the light what the darkness had hidden. He turned back, kneeling at Hanzo’s side. “Good lord, what happened? You left without shoes?” Jesse lifted each foot carefully to assess the damage. It was difficult to tell how bad they were under the dirt and blood. He mentally added first aid supplies to the list of things he’d be bringing back to the table.

In minutes, he had returned with everything, including some dry clothes. He reached out to help Hanzo take off his wet things.

“Don’t.”

Jesse backed off, letting Hanzo do it himself, even as his chilled fingers fumbled with the clingy wet fabric. Instead, Jesse busied himself with preparing the disinfectant and gauze.

“Here, sit down,” Jesse instructed, when Hanzo was dressed again in a soft knit shirt and flannel pajama pants, and he got down on the floor and began to clean Hanzo’s feet with warm water.

“There is no need. I can manage.”

“Shush, I’ve got this. I didn’t do fifteen years of annual first-responder classes for nothing.”

Hanzo’s feet were beginning to warm up again, and sharper feeling was returning to what had been a numbed ache. But Jesse’s fingers were gentle and his touch was sure.

“Well, now,” Jesse said once he’d gotten all the dirt off. “It’s not so bad after all. Just a few scratches, enough to make a mess. There might be a bit of bruising from the abuse, but you’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”

Hanzo wrapped his arms around himself. Jesse’s thoughtfulness was too stark a contrast to his own self-absorption. “I wish you would stop.”

Jesse looked up in surprise, and the hand that was applying the antibiotic ointment froze.

“Stop being so kind. I am an asshole.” The epithet felt strange in Hanzo’s mouth, but he meant it.

Jesse sighed and wiped his fingers on the towel. He reached for the gauze. He replied in the general direction of the foot.

“Hanzo, I’m gonna say this once. Yeah, you fucked up big time once, and yeah, it changed you. But you are not fundamentally an asshole because you made a mistake, no matter how large it was, or because you have feelings you can’t control.” He secured the gauze on one foot and began to apply ointment to the other. “If you continued to try to intentionally hurt the people you love most, then yeah, you’d be an asshole, but I’ve yet to see evidence of that. If anyone is in the wrong right here, right now, it’s me, because I didn’t tell you things you deserved to know. I let you find out in the worst way.”

He finished treating the other foot, releasing it gently. He looked up into Hanzo’s face again. “You have every right to be angry with me about not telling you what I knew. But I promise you, we were not there to attack you or your family.” A thought crossed Jesse’s mind, an image from the file that was now neatly tucked away in its hiding spot. His eyes drifted to the side as he considered it. “At least, I wasn’t.”

Jesse stood up, with a little more effort than he would have liked to admit, and moved to collect the first aid supplies. He expected no real acknowledgement from Hanzo. If he was angry, then he was angry, and there wasn’t much Jesse could really do. He’d made his case and he’d stand by it, but he couldn’t undo the damage already done.

Hanzo spoke at last, softly, deliberately, and Jesse stopped, his hands full. “Jesse McCree, you are everything I am not. Nowhere is it more evident than in the events of...that night.” Hanzo’s dark eyes closed slowly and opened again, and Jesse could have sworn they were glistening with unshed tears. “I killed my brother, and you saved him.”

“Hanzo,” Jesse replied, swallowing hard against the emotion that rose in his throat. “Dammit… You are the most fascinating and beautiful person I ever met. You can be so still, yet so full of passion. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way than just exactly like you are.”  He dropped the damp towel and the ointment back on the table, and stretched to smooth a lock of Hanzo’s unruly hair back from his face. Hanzo leaned his cheek into Jesse’s palm, and Jesse knew in that instant that all was not lost.

“Now,” he said, his voice faint, “you should get into bed and get warm.”

“Come with me.”

Jesse’s lips curved into a soft smile. “I’m going to put this stuff away, then I’ll be right there.”

Hanzo watched him cross to the bathroom with the first aid supplies and the damp things, then realized he hadn’t touched the tea Jesse had made. He took a sip, and it was a little cooler than he usually liked, and a little sweeter, but he was grateful for it, and drank it all. He tested his weight on his sore feet and found it not impossible to walk, if he was careful about it, and took the dozen or so steps necessary to make it to his side of the bed.

By the time Jesse joined him, having secured the house and turned out the lights, Hanzo was finally starting to feel a little bit warm. And when Jesse reached out for him, he slipped into his lover’s embrace like a key into its lock.

“Jesse…” Hanzo’s voice was muffled in his partner’s shoulder. “On a better day, will you tell me all?”

“Of course, baby. Everything you want to know.”


	9. An Opening

Hanzo was sitting comfortably with his legs stretched out on the couch, book in hand and his second cup of coffee within reach. He wasn't reading, though. He was watching the small birds that were hopping and fluttering across the small patio just outside the living room, and listening to the rush of water from the bathroom as Jesse took a shower. Then came the defiant squeak of the faucet and the sound of the water ceased. Hanzo took a sip of his coffee.

A few minutes later, a freshly-washed Jesse was walking across the apartment towards the bedroom, wearing only a towel. He stepped around the sliding partition, and Hanzo heard dresser drawers open and close. When he appeared at the opening again, he was dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting button-up shirt in that shade of blue-gray that was Hanzo's favorite, the one that almost made Jesse's grey eyes look blue, if the light was right. He had something in his hands, a box, and he carried it over and set it carefully on the coffee table between them. He sat down in the chair opposite.

Hanzo looked at the wooden box and then up at Jesse, who was fitting a tiny key into the lock on the box. Jesse looked back up at Hanzo as the catch on the lock sprang open.

"I've got nearly forty years of my life to share with you, I figured this was as good a way as any to get started," he said. But he didn't open the box, he just gazed at it, his fingertips resting delicately on the corner of the polished wood.

"What is it?" asked Hanzo. "Family heirlooms?"

"I guess so. I don't rightly know, to tell the truth. It's what my mother left for me. I hadn't even seen this box for a couple decades, not until last week. A friend of hers was keeping it for me." Jesse rubbed his thumb over the brass latch of the box, still unsure about opening it.

This was the first time Hanzo could remember Jesse ever mentioning any of his blood relatives. It was sadly not uncommon for people of their generation to rely more on found family than birth family, thanks to the widespread devastation of the omnic crisis, and even more so amongst those who lived the sort of life they did. They just didn’t talk about it, and if Hanzo could accept silence about any part of Jesse’s history, it was this part.

Jesse’s eyes met Hanzo’s again, like he needed reassurance. Hanzo wasn’t sure what he could do to help, but he closed his book and swung his bandaged feet off the couch, making a show of giving Jesse his full attention. Jesse’s mouth twitched and he lifted the lid of the box, letting it fall completely open. It revealed a mound of tissue-wrapped shapes.

“Heh. It’s like Christmas.” He selected the first small packet and carefully unfolded it. The contents slipped out and nearly evaded his grasp. Jesse swallowed a lump in his throat as he realized what it was.

“What is it?” Hanzo leaned closer to see. “A necklace?”

Jesse handed it to him. “It’s her favorite rosary. Prayer beads.”

“Ah, I see.” Hanzo ran the smooth green beads through his hand, almost as if he was evaluating their shape and density between his thumb and first two fingers. He glanced briefly at the crucifix that hung from the center, then laid the rosary gently back on its tissue.

The next object was larger, bulkier, perhaps six inches in length. It had a weight to it. Jesse unwrapped it slowly, and as soon as he saw the object revealed, he could immediately picture where it had been displayed. He stood it upright on the table.

“Our Lady of Guadalupe. My mother was mostly Mexican and very Roman Catholic, and we always had this in our house.” His lips curved into a wistful smile. “She was supposed to protect us. Guess they didn’t train her for omnics.”

The package that had pressed the statue securely against the side of the box was the next one to be opened. It was light and soft, and its irregular shape stirred something deep inside of Jesse, but he was still startled when it emerged from its wrappings. It was a small stuffed horse, its mane a bit matted and its fuzzy brown and white coat a little thin in spots.

“Rocko!” Now when he spoke it was as much to himself as it was to Hanzo. “Why would she have kept Rocko?” He couldn’t resist pressing the toy to his face, letting the memories rush through him.

“It seems obvious to me,” Hanzo said quietly. “If he was your special toy.”

Jesse nodded with a wistful smile and set the stuffed horse to the side, reaching for the next treasure, not wanting to lose himself so soon. There weren’t many left now. He unwrapped it, and a heavy silver pin fell into his hand, about three inches long and in the shape of a thistle with a belt circling the flower. He turned it over in his hand, not recognizing it. Hanzo had seen something like it in his travels, and he tried to place it.

“Is it...a kilt pin?” he offered.

“Ah! Yes!” Jesse exclaimed in agreement. “Probably from my father’s family. Makes sense. Not sure I ever saw it, or him in a kilt, to be honest, but I vaguely remember being told there really was some Scottish blood in the family, though not anything recent. I think my father's family had roots in the States as far back as Hudson's Bay Company.” He set the pin next to the rosary. All that was left in the box was a small, square package, a larger flat rectangle, and a fat envelope. He had a feeling he knew what the envelope contained, and consciously chose to leave it for last, going for the smallest item instead.

The unfolding tissue revealed a velvet jewelry box. Jesse glanced up at Hanzo. “Rings.” Hanzo nodded.

The spring hinge on the box was tight, dry and stiff from decades of disuse, but it was no match for Jesse’s prosthetic fingers. He opened it to reveal three rings, and he pulled the first one out to give it a closer look, squinting at the inscription until Hanzo handed him his reading glasses.

The slim, plain gold band was engraved with two sets of initials and a date. “Wedding band,” Jesse determined, and handed it to Hanzo to observe. The next ring he didn’t recognize, but from the style and the worn edges of the setting, he could hazard a guess.

“Maybe my grandmother’s wedding ring? Or engagement ring. It looks old. No engraving.”

Hanzo nodded as he examined it. He set it down carefully and watched as Jesse contemplated the third ring. He hadn’t removed it from the box yet, almost seeming afraid to touch it. He blinked, pushing away whatever held him back and pulled it out. It was titanium, not white gold or platinum, and he knew it without question, and it was larger than the other two rings had been by a significant amount. Jesse ran his fingertips across the intricate inlaid pattern. He remembered this one, and the gentle, caring hand that had worn it.

“My father’s wedding ring.” Jesse tried it on, and it was loose on his ring finger. He played with it a minute, then slipped it off and gave it to Hanzo.

“It is elegant,” Hanzo said. He rubbed his thumb over the inlay as the ring slipped over the tip of his index finger. “Is this Scottish, too?”

Jesse came back from wherever he had drifted off to as he watched Hanzo inspect the ring. “Oh, yeah, celtic knotwork. Yeah. I remember playing with it when I was really little, trying to find the end, and of course, it’s continuous. There is no end.” He accepted the ring back from Hanzo, and put all three back into their velvet box.

As soon as he touched the last wrapped object, he could tell what it was. He loosened the paper and revealed a simple silver picture frame that held a portrait of a smiling young family: a handsome, well-tanned man in uniform, a young woman with serious eyes and long, dark hair, and a toddler with unruly coppery-brown hair and tiny cowboy boots. He stared at it for a long time without saying a word.

“I forgot...” Jesse said, haltingly. “I forgot what she looked like.” He continued to gaze at the photograph, lost in memories untouched for a lifetime, searching for clues that would bring him more. Hanzo got up and stepped around the table. He perched on the arm of Jesse’s chair and slipped an arm across his shoulders. He laid his cheek against his lover’s hair as Jesse leaned into his chest and sighed. Hanzo missed his own mother, and he could still remember her. He didn’t dare imagine what it would be like to forget.

“A cowboy from the very start, I see.” Hanzo smiled at the image of the infant Jesse, his features recognizable, though still soft and masked by baby fat.

“Yeah, well, it was Texas. They start ‘em young. Some say it happens at conception.” Jesse reluctantly set the framed photograph aside, and took the last thing from the wooden chest, the envelope. He pulled out the contents, and it was more varied than he’d anticipated. He expected photographs, and there were a number of those, but there were also a couple of documents. Thumbing through the pictures, he recognized a few of the faces and didn’t recognize others, but someone had made careful notes on the back of each, and Jesse knew there would be time later to study them. Nothing grabbed him like the family portrait had, and he laid the stack of snapshots down on top of the framed photo and turned to the documents.

Jesse unfolded the first one, and recognized what it was quickly. “Marriage certificate. Nothing surprising there.” He re-folded the yellowed page and opened the second. He laughed and held it up where Hanzo could see it. “Look! Proof I exist.”

Hanzo peered at it. It was a copy of Jesse’s birth certificate.

“After a while I wondered myself if that was really my name, you know? Too many undercover ops. Too many people on the job who weren’t who they said they were.” Jesse turned his face into Hanzo’s shirt and inhaled his warmth. If there was one thing he could be certain of, it was Hanzo’s sense of self. It grounded him. He wanted to say he’d underestimated how much the contents of the box would affect him, but he hadn’t. It was why he’d put off opening it. It was why he hadn't wanted to do it alone.

Hanzo rubbed his hand along the side of Jesse's ribcage. "Thank you."

"Hmm? For what?" Jesse looked up at him.

"For sharing this with me. It was very personal for you. You did not have to open this box in front of me."

Jesse smiled. "I wanted to. I want you to be sure of who I am, as sure as I am of who you are. I have a lot of catching up to do, a lot to make up for."

For some reason this made Hanzo feel sad. "You have less to make up for than you may think."

"Do I? Because I could've sworn I lost you last night, through my own thick-headedness. I know what trust is like, and once it's broken, you can never patch it up quite the same as it was."

"It was a shock, that is all. After a difficult day. I am sorry to have caused you pain." Hanzo let his body slide down into the gap between Jesse and the back of the chair, and wrapped his arms more fully around his lover.

Jesse relaxed into his embrace, laying his head back on Hanzo's shoulder. "Do you ever think that we spend an awful lot of time explaining our thoughts to each other, and reassuring each other?"

"Mmmm. Is it wrong to do so? Is that not simply communication?" He let his cheek rest against Jesse's.

"You're right. It is. It's not wrong, it's just, well, I reckon it's just not what I expected. But you know what? I definitely prefer it to the alternative."

"Mmm. As do I."

They sat together in a peaceable silence as Jesse contemplated the objects that were spread out before him. "Well, I was going to suggest a trip to Old Town today, but you're gonna stay off those feet, and I'm thinking maybe it'd be good to just stay home and relax."

"I would not mind a quiet day," Hanzo affirmed.

"Besides," Jesse continued, his face lighting up with a wicked grin, "I can think of a way to pass the time that would definitely keep you off your feet."

Hanzo's hands slipped under Jesse's shirt, one stroking upwards to tease the nubs of his nipples, the other dipping into the waistband of his shorts. "Oh yes?"

Jesse's laughter filled the room like sunshine as he turned to face his lover, and Hanzo could not help but join in. 


	10. Crystallization

As they turned the corner into the heart of Old Town, Jesse was surprised to see the plaza full of market stalls, with large panels of white fabric strung tight between the larger trees and light poles to shade the vendors and shoppers below from the heat of the late spring sun. Early hollyhocks were blooming on tall, spindly stalks in a planter beneath a tree, and a mariachi band was playing cheerful music for the gathering from the raised platform of the central gazebo. He looked at Hanzo and tilted his head in the direction of the market, and the man beside him nodded in response to his unspoken question. Jesse grinned, and they plunged into the kaleidoscope crowd and began to explore what was on offer at the various stalls and tables.

A collection of polished stones and raw crystals caught Jesse’s eye and he paused before the merchant’s stall to examine the artfully arranged assortment. He bent closer to peer into the void of a bisected geode. Straightening up, he turned to point out the attractive geologic specimen to Hanzo, but Hanzo had continued on further to browse a table full of Mexican baked goods.

“Picked that one up over near Cabezon,” the grizzled rockhound behind the table said. “I got lucky when I cut it. It opened up real nice.”

Jesse smiled at him. “Yeah, it’s like a tiny crystal cave in there.”

“Yeah!” The vendor agreed.

Jesse considered it for a moment. The symbolism of a magical interior hidden inside layers of protective and obfuscating stone appealed to something in him, and he thought it would be an attractive addition to his new home. “I’d like to buy this one,” he said. The merchant nodded, and lifted it carefully off its display stand. As he wrapped it up, Jesse noticed the rack of keychains. There was one style that reminded him of some of the gadgets and toys he’d seen a few days before when he’d done the web search for the weighted blanket. He pulled one of the keychains off the rack to study it more closely. It was composed of a small plank of smoothly varnished wood inlaid with four small polished spheres of semi-precious stones. Jesse was surprised to find that the spheres were completely free-moving. He pictured Hanzo's fingers caressing them the way they had his mother's rosary.

“That’s a fidget keychain,” the merchant explained, noticing Jesse’s interest. “My kid, he loves those things. So I started making them, and they’re real popular with all kinds of folks. That one’s got hematite and labradorite, set in maple.”

“How did you get the stones in there without them popping out again?” Jesse asked as he handed it to the man. “I’ll take that one,” he added.

“Oh, it’s two pieces of wood beveled to hold them, and then bonded together. The trick is not getting the glue on the stones.” The merchant sounded gratified at his customer’s sense of wonder. He added the keychain to Jesse’s bag, and then rang up the sale on his handheld device. Jesse gave him the credits and the merchant handed him the sack. There were thanks exchanged on both sides and Jesse went to intercept Hanzo before he could buy the entire stall of baked treats.

Hanzo noticed his bag right away. “Did you buy something?” he asked.

“Yeah, got a little something to add some personality to the apartment. Need some help picking out a snack?”

“Do you have a recommendation?” Hanzo looked from the baked goods to his boyfriend and back again.

They discussed the pastries for a few minutes and finally left with some cookies for Jesse and a sweet roll filled with vanilla cream for Hanzo. They wandered through the rest of the market as Hanzo ate his pastry, enjoying the flowers and the music and the varied merchandise that surrounded them. When they’d made their way all the way through, Jesse steered them towards a little art and framing shop in an adobe and timber building across from the park. There were some native merchants selling turquoise and copper jewelry on blankets on the shaded sidewalk, and Jesse greeted them, lifting his hat, as he and Hanzo passed on their way into the shop. Five minutes later, they were back on the sidewalk, now with a large flat package tucked under Jesse’s arm.

“What is it?” Hanzo queried. It had been wrapped in paper already when they picked it up.

“You’ll see when we get home.” Jesse winked at him. “Let’s get some lunch and then we’ll stop at the hardware store so I can get the stuff to fix that damned squeaky faucet. Then you’ll get to see.”

Hanzo sighed in grudging acquiescence. They strolled on down the sidewalk, looking in the shop windows as they passed.

“How are the feet?” Jesse asked.

“Fine,” replied Hanzo. “They were fine yesterday.”

“Good. I hate for you to suffer.”

Hanzo felt warm, and it wasn’t just from the sunshine. For once he was convinced that Jesse really meant it, that he really did care. He reached over and took his boyfriend’s free hand as they continued on their way. Jesse turned his head and smiled at him.

By the time they reached the hardware store, Hanzo was sleepy with a full stomach and his feet were actually feeling a little tender, so he sent Jesse to find all the parts and tools he needed while he was left in peace to look at the plants in the nursery.

Jesse was just being handed the key he’d had made at the hardware counter when he saw Hanzo wandering into the main store with a potted cactus in his hands. They met up in front of the cash registers.

“What’s that?” Jesse asked.

“I am purchasing a gift for your new home,” replied Hanzo. “A cactus. Very prickly and blooms only rarely. To remind you of me when we are apart.”

Jesse couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Perfect. I love it.” He checked his basket to make sure he’d collected all the things he needed. “I’ve got everything, are you good?” Hanzo nodded and they approached the cashier together.

When they arrived back at Jesse’s apartment, Jesse handed Hanzo the large package they’d picked up at the art shop. “Open it.”

Hanzo looked at him for a long moment, then carefully removed the paper, revealing an elegant black picture frame. Strikingly mounted in the frame was the scroll Hanzo had made and given to Jesse. Hanzo smiled and returned it to his partner.Jesse looked it over and found it worthy before setting it down next to the cactus on the table. “They did a good job. Do you like it?”

“I do.” Hanzo nodded, then he looked at Jesse’s bag from the rockhound’s stall. “What else did you get?”

“Oh, you know. A rock.” Jesse reached into the sack and pulled out the wrapped geode, a hemisphere that fit snugly into his palm. He handed it to Hanzo to unwrap, palming the keychain and sliding it into his pocket unnoticed, to be dealt with later.

Hanzo was charmed by the sparkling crystals surrounded by a layer of milky quartz, concealed with a skin of ordinary basalt that failed to give any hint of the wonder that lay within.

“If the cactus is you, that rock is me.” Jesse gave a short bark of a laugh, and Hanzo looked up.

“How so?”

“Hard on the outside, nothing to attract too much notice, some interesting stuff buried just inside and then a cavernous void at the center.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Heh,” was all Hanzo said, and he took the cut stone over and set it next to the holoscreen. When he turned around again, Jesse was eating a cookie and heading for the kitchen.

“Beer?” Jesse asked from the open refrigerator.

“Sure.”

They took their beers and Jesse’s cookies out onto the shaded patio and sat down to enjoy the late afternoon. The breeze was picking up again, sending fallen spring blossoms swirling and dancing along the ground.

“Hmm, feels a bit like there’s another storm comin’,” Jesse observed. “Keep your shoes on this time, ‘kay?” He crunched into another cookie.

“If you can refrain from dropping bombs on me, I will probably not be motivated to go for an impromptu jog.” Hanzo cast a sidelong glance at his boyfriend.

“Bombshells? Yeah, not sure I have too many of those left. Not ones that involve you, at least.” The corner of Jesse’s mouth twitched. If Hanzo was making snarky comments, he was in a good mood. He wished he could bottle some of it up for when Hanzo wasn’t around. Without meaning to, he sighed.

Hanzo heard him. “What is wrong?”

“Oh, nothin’. Just wishing you didn’t have to go back home. I keep kicking myself for jumping into this place without thinking. I should’ve packed up and headed north to be near you.”

“But your work is here. I do not know what it is, precisely, but I know it is very important to you.” Hanzo frowned slightly. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone abdicating their duty.

“Ah, yeah, there’s a long history of nuclear work in New Mexico, and between that, and the omnics, and people wrestling for control of the tech and power in the world...yeah, it’s a nexus of sorts. But there’s another nexus of activity near Seattle, and I’d be just as useful there, and it’d mean I could be with you.” Jesse took a long pull off his bottle and stared out across the yard towards the street. He slouched down in his chair just a little bit more.

“This is your home. You know it so well.” Hanzo took a deep breath. “Perhaps it is for the best. To have time apart, to keep from wearing each other down with our frailties.”

“Maybe. Or we could be stronger together. We don’t know until we try, do we?” Jesse made eye contact now, his grey eyes searching for answers in the lines of his lover’s face.

“Have you already forgotten the other night? That was a bad day. I have worse days. Are you prepared for those?” Hanzo’s voice was soft and level. He sounded almost concerned.

“If I get the snarky backtalk and the shoulder rubs and to see the delight in your eyes when a pastry explodes in your mouth, I will absolutely fight your personal battles with you. And if I have you by my side when the nights are long and dark and cold...Look, we have problems, and strange personality quirks, and character flaws. Everyone does. What matters is how we cope, right?” Jesse tried to smile, but it came out with a sad twist. He tried to change the tone. “Hey, I got you a little somethin’ today too.” He pulled the keychain out of his pocket and held it out to Hanzo.

Hanzo accepted it, immediately brushing his fingers across the polished stones, and when he felt them slide freely at his touch, he continued to rub them. The sense of calm that came over him was palpable, like someone stroking the back of his neck, and he felt his respiration slow and deepen. “What is this magic?” he breathed. He set his beer down so he could use the fingertips of both hands.

“Just a little relaxation toy,” Jesse said. “Speaking of coping. The dark silver stones are hematite and the shimmery blue and yellow ones are labradorite. They reminded me of your favorite winter coat.” He held up a silver key, one of the old style, with no electronic tags or microchips, his locks unhackable except by old school lock-picking. “This goes with it. It’s a key to this place, and it’s for you, and I want you to feel like you can come here whenever you want.”

Hanzo took it, and their fingers touched for a moment, and even after all the intimacy they’d shared and all the time they’d spent together, it hit him like a spark, and he knew that this was special. This was important. He spun the key onto the keyring, and keeping it in his right hand where he could continue to touch the stones, he stretched out his left for Jesse, who took it.

“I will come and stay with you, and you will come and stay with me. Perhaps this year that will equal more time together than we had last year.” Hanzo squeezed Jesse’s hand. He’d figure out a way to manage having less time alone. Everything Jesse had said was true, wasn’t it, about the trade-offs? His life was changing, and though the uncertainty was difficult, some of the rewards were worth it.

“That sounds like a plan. Home is what you make it, right? Nobody said we can't make our own rules.” He wasn’t certain that they’d resolved anything, really, but Jesse felt like he could breathe easier.

They sat there for a while longer, watching as the mountains turned changed colors as the sun fell towards the horizon behind them. When the unseen western clouds swallowed up the sunset, they got up to go inside.

“Jesse, I would like to hear about Hanamura. If you please.”

“Of course, pumpkin. So, the first I heard of it, I’d been back at HQ for awhile, a few weeks maybe, after my last undercover op wrapped up, when Reyes called me into his office. There’d been some communication with someone who claimed to have working knowledge of the Shimada crime syndicate, and he wanted to make a deal…” Jesse secured the patio door and drew the shutters closed, pushing out the darkness as he told his story, wrapping them both in the warmth and light of home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my beta reader and morale booster, @HiMissParamount. And many thanks, too, to all the other folks who read chunks and kept me going during the eternity it took to write this.


End file.
